Once Upon Never
by Sequelized
Summary: The tale of the Grey Warden that never was.


**Title: **Once Upon Never

**Summary: **The tale of the Grey Warden that never was.

**Rating: **T. Suggestive themes. Nothing that warrants an M-rating.

**Genre:** Drama

**Spoilers: **Spoilers for the Noble Dwarf Origin story and the end of the game.

**A/N: **It's my first foray into the DA fandom! The line in italics at the start is taken from Blind Guardian's song _Skalds and Shadows._

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Age: Origins or Skalds and Shadows.

* * *

_"How bitter your treason, how bitter the lie."_

* * *

My life is ruined.

It lays in tatters as my treacherous brother, the one whom I placed all my trust in, sits upon Orzammar's throne. Each morning I wake to find a straw roof or tent overhead my raw heart aches anew.

It breaks for the life I know I will never have again. My love, my dear Gorim, I will never lay eyes upon his honest and loving face. Never feel the gentle caress of his warm, calloused hands.

I will never fulfill my father's dream of bringing the military honor. Never see his carved name in the Stone.

I will never stroll through Orzammar's streets and greet my people. Never successfully dismantle its harsh caste system.

These things are forever lost to me. And for what? A spoiled child's impatience and underhanded ambition to lead a people? The crown that sits upon his arrogant head holds more worth to him than his own flesh and blood!

It _disgusts_ me. However, it is ironic that I placed my faith in a snake. Trian Aeducan was belligerent and self-indulgent, yes, but he was no traitor. The moment Bhelen's whispered suggestion of such met my ear, I should have heeded the tiny voice that spoke of _his_ treachery. My heartless younger sibling coveted our father's crown from the day he learned he was nothing more than House Aeducan's _spare _heir. I—_We_ were blind to his true nature.

Perhaps we _chose_ ignorance…

The day I was banished foretold the path I would take, both literal and figurative. My escape into the Deep Road's passageways was long and perilous, though I found the topside by way of my love's frantic, hushed directions given my final night spent in Orzammar.

It has been an entire year since then. An entire year since the upheaval of everything I've known. The world topside is strange in its airy, open plains and fast-speaking merchants. What I learned, after the nausea and anxiety of falling into the sky abated, was 'honor' is relative term, and so long as you possess the coin, mercenaries will take up their arms for you. I scoffed at how little difference existed between my birthplace and the topside world.

I soon survived horrors unimaginable, and following the Blight, I heard rumors of a man with a skill set to cast fear in the hearts of the those who harness great authority in their lands. That this same man assisted the exalted Hero of Ferelden in defeating the mighty Archdemon, subsequently preventing the cursed Blight's consumption of everything in its wake.

Now, sightings and half-spoken truths have finally led me to him, in the farthest reaches of Orlais.

And as my surprise that he is not, in fact, a human but an elf fades, I query whether he will willfully aid my efforts to rid Orzammar of its Tyrant. I shed my coy political discourse long ago and in its stead adopted a bluntness that has served me well in the uncouth life I presently lead.

Nevertheless, the elf regards me with a stare so intense I feel it deep into my bones. Perhaps a remnant of my noble self has shun through, and it has failed to pass unnoticed. Perhaps he is gauging the ease with which my purse can be relieved from my person. It is then that I vaguely wonder what I shall do should he turn me away…or turn a blade unto my spleen.

Suddenly, his lips split into a charming grin. "Kings are most enjoyable targets! There is something to be said of a man with immense power at the tips of his fingers begging for mercy, no?" he inquires, a mischievous twinkle in his amber gaze.

I feel a miniscule tilt to my own lips, the closest I have come to a smile since my exile.

We converse until darkness replaces light and stars blanket the sky. After I decline an invitation to share his bed, the former Crow promises to return the next full moon. Enough time, he jovially declares, to collect the sovereigns needed for his services.

Although the hatred and fury which burns within my chest lays ready to consume me whole, I nod in agreement. I will stay focused. I will earn the coin. I will sleep in filthy camps with unwashed men-for-hire. I will eat the bare minimum for survival, and I will do whatever is necessary to secure the elven assassin's services.

Above all, I will remain patient.

Let Orzammar's newly crowned king taste the grandeur of his position a tad longer. Let him continue to believe I died in the Deep Roads, alone and shamed, existence stricken from the Stone permanently. Let him believe he's finally won.

Till my last breath, my wrath knows no bounds.

I shall have my vengeance.


End file.
